It seems whenever I read of a country’s people attempting to rise up against their dictator, his military supports the ruler against the people. I read now that Critics have raised questions about the need to use active-duty troops for a mission already involving Border Patrol agents and National Guard personnel, citing concerns the deployment could violate the Posse Comitatus Act, a law limiting military activities within the United States.
Trump has already corrupted good republicans, waged war on our checks and balances including the judiciary, trashed our reputation and influence among our allies, kept the most armed better armed, raised the possibility of a nuclear war, insulted our CIA, and now he’s getting the military to do his political bidding. Dictators also imprison their opponents.
Trump wants to jail Hillary. Haven’t heard a word about his daughter’s similar behavior.
Rural folks seem to want to believe Trump is just a good ole bumbling dyslexic boy who made good, as they’d like to do. I fear au contraire he is craftily orchestrating the castration and subsequent annihilation of the American Dream for his very personal gains. He knows what he’s doing to America.
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About Nan Mykel
I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.)
For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic.
Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again.
When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever.
I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
